


Stucky Drabbles

by freshwoods



Series: Tumblr Works [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Humiliation, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Overstimulation, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Praise Kink, Smut, Soft Stucky, Spanking, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-06-28 09:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15704487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshwoods/pseuds/freshwoods
Summary: Various drabbles and prompt fills.1. stucky - fluffy2. stucky - overstimulation, humiliation, spanking3. stucky - Steve being taken care of, because he deserves nice things.4. stucky - first time fic where one is super nervous and scared and insecure and the other is so gentle and caring5. stucky - "Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving.”6. stucky - stuck in an abandoned building7. steve post IW (stucky if you squint)8. stucky - birthday





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All originally posted on my [ tumblr](https://freshwoods.tumblr.com/).

The fading light from the day softly filters in through the blinds, casting striped shadows over Bucky’s back and Steve’s hand where it strokes, up and down, over the other man’s spine. There’s no sound in the room but their gentle breathing. Inhale. Exhale. A quiet cadence. On his side next to Bucky, Steve moves forward, presses his lips to Bucky’s shoulder. A sleepy smile spreads over Bucky’s lips, eyes closed, crinkling at the corners. Steve trails his hand up, over the back of Bucky’s neck—he watches Bucky shiver—before running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Happy and sated, their legs tangled, Bucky’s arm over his waist, they lie together, the last dregs of the day’s sun still warm in the room, on their skin. A silent moment. Still. Held like a heartbeat, like a breath. Bucky lets out a contented sigh as Steve’s fingers move through his hair, again and again, a gentle, hypnotic lull. Bucky settles further into the mattress, his arm around Steve tightening, drawing him closer. Skin on skin. Goosebumps. A shiver. Steve’s eyes trail over Bucky’s face, drinking in every detail—the way the lines on his forehead have smoothed out, the slackness of his jaw, the way his lips part just the slightest bit, a hint of his teeth showing behind them. He’s soft, like this. Steve brings his other hand down from above his head to wedge it under Bucky’s cheek, cradling the man’s face, his thumb stroking over Bucky’s cheek. Moving forward again, Steve lays a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead, lips lingering as the hand in Bucky’s hair moves, flattening, cradling Bucky’s skull—holding Bucky. It’s all he knows how to do. He never wants to let go.

Steve’s cheek replaces his lips, pressing against the warm skin of Bucky’s forehead. Fingers splay on his back, pushing them closer together, so much strength in them. Insistence. The leg between Steve’s own tightens, holding every part of Steve closer. Urgency. Steve’s fingers begin to shake, so he presses them more firmly against Bucky, anchoring them both. Lips graze the underside of Steve’s jaw. A gasp, breaking the syncopated rhythm of their breaths. Steve pulls back, looks into Bucky’s sleep-hazy eyes. Forehead to forehead now, Bucky touches his nose to Steve’s, a gentle point of contact before their lips connect, sweetly, trembling, achingly soft and slow. The gentleness furls inside of Steve. Shaky on the outside, shaky on the inside. Bucky holds him through it. Solid. Steady. Kiss after kiss pressed against his skin—temple, eyelid, cheek, lips, lips, lips, until the air in Steve’s lungs has turned to nothing but a Bucky-shaped impression. Steve feels unmade, but Bucky’s lips and hands rework him into something more, lift him to new heights, until he can breathe and feel again. When next Steve opens his eyes, the light has faded, plunged the room into shadows that hold them in their embrace. Steve can still see the outline of Bucky in front of him, feel him real and solid beneath his fingers. Intertwined. Bucky’s eyes glitter when Steve finds them again. One last kiss. A promise. Unsaid words a confession; given to the night, taken with adoration. They hold each other tighter, drifting into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: stucky overstimulation, humiliation, spanking

Bucky pants, heaving in breath after breath, tugging at the restraints on his wrists, needing to do something—anything—to alleviate the burn in the pit of his stomach as Steve destroys him with his mouth. He kneels behind Bucky, arms wrapped under Bucky’s thighs, face buried in his ass. And god, it’s the best-worst thing Bucky’s ever experienced—Steve fucking his tongue into Bucky, tasting him, tearing him apart from the inside. His nose digs into Bucky’s skin and his beard is this side of too much as it scratches deliciously at his perineum, Steve trying to get deeper, tongue-fucking him harder, faster, swirling his tongue around in a way that sends fire to every nerve of his body. Bucky pushes his face into the sheet below him, taking the material between his teeth to stifle his moans.

But then Steve pulls back, leaving him exposed, wet, the cool air of the room making him shiver. Bucky whimpers at the loss. Steve’s arms move Bucky, raise him to his knees, a firm hand pushing at the small of his back until he bends—on display for Steve. “Fuck,” he hears the other man’s raspy voice, his fingers moving to part Bucky’s ass, a digit circling the muscle at the rim. Bucky chases the feeling, wanting—needing to feel Steve  _there_ again.

But then a crack sounds in the room, and the sting on Bucky’s asscheek shoots up his spine. He arches his neck, sheet still between his teeth, softening his moan.

“No,” Steve’s voice is hard, delivering a slap on the opposite cheek. “I know you fucking love this, Bucky. I want to hear you. Sound so pretty when you can’t control yourself.”

Bucky flushes, hot all over at being found out, but then Steve licks at Bucky’s rim again with a ferocity that borders on too much—too much teeth, not enough tongue—Steve’s fingertips digging in to the sensitive areas he’d just spanked. Bucky can’t help it now, without a vice to keep his mouth busy, the sounds come out, keening and whimpering, moaning Steve’s name as the other man works him to ruin.

He lets out something akin to a sob when Steve pulls away again, and then hisses when Steve’s thumbs press inside of him, stretching Bucky out.

“Shit. You’re such a slut for this, aren’t you, Baby?” Bucky hears Steve spit, feels the saliva cool on his exposed hole. Heat floods his face, and he presses his forehead to the mattress. God, but Steve’s right. Bucky really does love this—loves being at Steve’s mercy, letting him do whatever he wants to him—being Steve’s to  _take_.

Steve’s digits spread him further, Steve’s tongue delving between them for one deep thrust, and Bucky can’t help but cant his hips back, fucking himself onto Steve’s tongue.

“Yeah,” Steve moves his fingers away, bringing one hand up to soothe at the skin right above the swell of his ass. “Show me how much you like it, Bucky. Be good for me. Beg for it..”

The mattress offers no respite for his heated cheeks, so he lifts his head, hoping the cool air might help the blush he feels coloring every inch of his face. “Steve.” It’s a whine more than anything.

“Show me,” is all Steve says, before his tongue once again presses inside of Bucky. But he doesn’t move, and Bucky feels tears prick at his eyes.

So Bucky steels himself, rocking his hips back in a needy, desperate motion, mortified at the small sounds leaving his throat. But he does it again and again, working himself on Steve’s tongue, swiveling his hips any which way, trying to get him deeper, feel it harder. Sweat pours down his face, matting his hair to his forehead, his thighs quivering with the effort. It’s a tease, Steve’s tongue not long enough to reach the place inside of him that Bucky craves, but the sensation on his kiss-swollen rim, so wet, skin so sensitive, is almost perfect, Steve’s beard rasps as his balls every so often and it’s intoxicating. Bucky feels drunk off it, riding Steve’s tongue to chase his own pleasure. Needy. Desperate.

Bucky comes between one cant backwards and the next, the orgasm taking him by surprise, tearing a loud moan from his throat, his thighs shaking in full now, untouched cock messing the sheets beneath them. Bucky pants harder, gasping in air, floating on the pleasure filling his body, turning the heat burning inside of him into a tepid glow that leaves him warm and sated.

—But then Steve’s hand slaps at his ass again, and all post-orgasmic bliss leaves Bucky.

The bed dips, and Bucky only catches snippets, blood still rushing in his ears, of “disappointed” and “slut for it” and “so easy, I bet anyone could make you come.” But Bucky shakes his head at that, desperately, because it’s not true, and the shame of Steve’s words eat at him.

Fingers fist into Bucky’s hair, pulling his head back. Steve’s eyes stare cold and impassive into Bucky’s. “No, Bucky? You’re telling me no? Don’t lie to me,” the words sound dangerous, and Bucky shivers. “You hate being empty, don’t you.” As if to punctuate his words, Steve reaches down the line of Bucky’s body, pushing two thick fingers inside of him in one motion. It’s too dry, Bucky not at all prepped for fingering, but the stretch and burn pools a heat starting anew in his belly. He’s still too sensitive to get hard, but his body tries its best.

Steve must notice the flush on Bucky’s cheeks, because he pulls his fingers out just as quickly. “So needy for it you couldn’t even wait to come, could you?” The other hand in Bucky’s hair loosens to something softer, Steve’s fingers moving to push the hair in his face back to something resembling a caress. “You’re pathetic. My pathetic baby.” His hand smooths down to cradle the back of Bucky’s neck, bringing his lips down to meet Bucky’s in an aggressive kiss—Steve kissing Bucky the same way he had eaten him out—mostly teeth. Bucky’s lips feel bruised when Steve pulls away.

He opens his mouth, wanting to say  _I’m not_ , or  _only for you_ , but before he can, Steve’s strong arms reach under him, moving Bucky’s still orgasm-loose body until he’s situated across Steve’s lap, bound wrists still tied together and attached to the headboard, arms stretched as far as they’ll go. He can feel Steve’s cock pressing hard and slick against his stomach.

And oh.  _Oh_. Bucky knows what’s coming next.

Even so, the first crack of Steve’s palm against his ass makes him gasp, the pain a dull thing, until it happens again, on the other cheek, part of his palm landing on where he’d spanked Bucky earlier. Bucky hisses.

“You deserve this, Bucky.” Steve’s stony voice tells him, another swat landing, this time harder. “If you can’t be good, you’ll be punished.” Another, and another, Steve repeating over and over that he deserves it, that this is punishment. Bucky closes his eyes against the wetness threatening, back arching, body straining and shaking from the blows, trying not to move, trying to be good, so good, for Steve, fighting the erection he feels between his legs—that Steve surely feels, as well—with every new slap, new inch of skin Steve pinks with his relentless hands. Bucky tries, he tries so hard to be good, to take this without complaint.

—Until a blow lands, hard and solid, right over his sensitive, swollen hole. Bucky nearly yells, body valiantly trying to twitch away, but immobile in Steve’s hands, completely at Steve’s mercy. Bucky presses his—now painfully hard—cock against Steve’s thigh, needing a small respite of relief.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. What am I going to do with you?” Steve’s fingers trail over his hole and Bucky does his best to hide his face against his outstretched arms. And then another spank slaps at his rim, harder, a stinging pain where the other one had been a dull ache. Bucky shouts again, rocking his hips, until Steve’s vice-like grip on his hips stops him. Steve clucks his tongue, a hand moving to squeeze almost painfully at one of Bucky’s asscheeks. “I asked you to be good for me, and this is what I get?” Steve’s hand moves lower, sweeping over Bucky’s balls to grip his cock. He gives Bucky one long, hard stroke, before letting him go. “You really are such a slut for this, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s not sure where it comes from—maybe it’s the humiliation sparked by Steve words, or the somehow primal satisfaction he gets from being talked to like this—but Bucky manages to lift his head, to look back over his shoulder at Steve’s assessing eyes. “Your slut.”

Steve’s other hand once again fists at Bucky’s hair, pulling his head back into an almost painful position. “My what?”

Bucky swallows hard, Steve’s eyes tracking the movement of his throat as Bucky’s heart beats harder in his chest. “Slut. Just for you. Only for you, Stevie.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment before he finally makes a triumphant sound, letting go of Bucky’s hair with a forceful, “that’s my good baby” that makes Bucky blush for an entirely new reason. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve being taken care of, because he deserves nice things.

It starts when the plane lands, when the wheels finally touch down after a mission gone too long—that ache he sometimes gets from being bone-tired, worn down, world weary. He thinks Bucky probably sees it in his face, in the way Steve won’t look directly at him, in the faux-casual touches Bucky strategically places on his side, the crook of his elbow, the back of his neck—strong, grounding.

He doesn’t really remember making it back to his apartment, but his door is there in front of him, Bucky’s metal hand reaching into the small zipper panel near his hip to retrieve Steve’s key. He helps move Steve inside, the other man setting him down gingerly on the oversized footstool. His mask falls away and he can’t be bothered to figure out how. Steve stares at the crisp white wall, a murmur rushing in his ears, and then Bucky’s hands reach up to cradle his face, making Steve’s eyes meet his.

“It’s okay, Stevie.” Oh. It was Bucky murmuring. That makes sense. Bucky runs his flesh hand through Steve’s hair, pushing it back from his face. “I’ve got you now. Just let me take care of you, okay?”

The distance closes between them, Bucky’s metal hand cool on Steve’s heated cheek. Their noses touch, but Bucky doesn’t close the distance. He waits, letting Steve make the choice.

And sometimes Steve wishes he were stronger. Sometimes he wishes that he could burn up whatever made him like this—filled with this horrible, numbing ache that chased away everything else inside of him, that made it hard for Steve to feel alive, that made him feel like he was still back in the icy water, drowning, gasping…

Steve nods, words stolen.

Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth, then pulls away. He moves his hands down to Steve’s neck, to the intricate zips and straps and buttons containing him within his suit. With every new inch exposed, Bucky’s fingers ghost over Steve’s skin—fleeting, feather-light touches that could almost tickle if it weren’t for the look on Bucky’s face—soft, reverent—like Steve is something fragile, like he’s who he used to be, before war and death and grief and loss and pain and the burden of surviving and surviving and surviving.

The cool air of the apartment soothes his skin, where sweat pooled during the mission. Bucky helps him out of the top of his uniform, his strong hands sliding and tugging the tight material off. Then Bucky’s hands grip under the juncture of arm and shoulder, drawing Steve up to stand, taking all of his weight as he helps walk Steve back to his bedroom.

Bucky lies him down gently, pillow under his head, as he starts to take off Steve’s boots, pulling with a gentle force, then makes work of the rest of Steve’s suit, shifting Steve’s hips up for him, because Steve can’t find the energy to move even an inch.

There’s rustling in the room, but Steve stares at the ceiling instead of investigating the source. Then the bed dips, Bucky’s weight settling beside him, his bare skin pressing against Steve’s. Raised on an elbow, Bucky looks down at him, one hand reaching out to cup his jaw once more. It takes everything inside of him to turn his head, to meet Bucky’s eyes again, when all he wants to do is close them, give in to the oncoming storm inside of him.

But then Bucky leans down, thumb stroking over Steve’s jaw as he kisses him, warm and slow, gentle and sweet. And it thaws some of the ice inside him. “Bucky.” It’s all he says—all he can bring himself to say.

So Bucky kisses him again—again and again and again. “It’s okay, Stevie, I’ve got you. I’m right here. Let me take care of you. You’re doing so well. I love you so much. I’m so proud of you, Baby.” Kiss after kiss, Bucky’s lips ravishing Steve, pressing warmth back into his skin, making him  _feel_ —making him  _want_.

He kisses up and down the length of Steve’s body, uncaring of the sweat still clinging to his skin, or the dirt and grime from the mission. Bucky kisses him until everything else falls away but Bucky—until nothing else matters but the dry press of his lips, or the trail of his fingers.

And something else builds up in Steve at his ministrations, something that threatens to eclipse the numbness within, that begs to be dragged deeper in the undertow of feeling and sensation—and  _Bucky_.

He makes a sound, looking down to Find Bucky’s eyes, needing an anchor. “Shh,” Bucky soothes, sliding his hands up one of Steve’s thighs—close, so close to where he needs him. “Just tell me what you want, Baby. I’ll give you anything, just tell me.” He strokes over Steve’s hip, cupping it. “You’re so perfect, my love. Let me give you want you deserve. Tell me.”

But Steve shakes his head, closes his eyes, because he’s not, because this—right now, with Bucky looking at him so sweetly—it isn’t right. He shouldn’t be looked at like that, not by anyone. Especially not Bucky, who deserved more than Steve could ever hope to give him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” A thumb traces over Steve’s face, coming away with moisture, and it’s only then Steve realizes he’s crying, letting slow tears roll down his face. “What’s this about, Baby? What’s wrong?” And Bucky looks like he can feel Steve’s pain, beautiful, perfect face pulled into one of concern.

“I want you, Buck.” Steve chokes out, shaking his head again.

Bucky’s eyes soften, even as his lips turn down. “Then what’s the matter, Stevie? I’m yours. I’m always yours.”

He shakes his head once more, harder, as though it might dislodge that part in his brain that keeps hoping. “Don’t deserve you.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Bucky makes a sound, springing up to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, pressing their bodies together into a long line of heat and comfort. He presses Steve’s face into his neck, cradling him. “Stevie. Baby, don’t ever say that, okay? I don’t care if you think I deserve you, because I  _want_ you. I  _love_ you. You’re everything to me.” His lips brush against the top of Steve’s head—and it’s so gentle, so unexpected, that Steve shudders in Bucky’s arms. “You’re so strong and brave. You’re fearless. Passionate. Loving. Kind. Wonderful. Amazing. Inspiring.” Bucky pulls back a little to look at Steve, to take him in. “Don’t I deserve someone like that, Stevie? Hmm.”

Steve swallows hard, feeling like the tears might return. “You deserve the world, Bucky.”

Running his hand through Steve’s hair, Bucky smiles down at him. “I don’t want the world. I just want you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stucky first time fic where one is super nervous and scared and insecure and the other is so gentle and caring

There’s an impression in the air that lingers, spanning the distance between them, like some ghost or apparition, a shade of their desire. It thrums between them, in the way their eyes lock—blue on softer blue—the way their fingers brush, the flicker of something searing away at the edge of their awareness.

 

It’s all been building up to this, to the way Bucky looks at Steve in the dimly lit bedroom, like he can’t believe he gets to see this, the way Steve’s pale shoulders slouch to try to hide his naked chest, the way Bucky’s fingertips flutter over Steve’s clavicle on their way down the smooth center of his torso. 

 

Steve shivers, fighting the urge to cross his arms when Bucky’s eyes drop down. Heat floods his face, working its way down his chest. He swallows back the nerves jumping in his stomach, building up in his throat. “Stop, Buck.”

 

Blue eyes to blue eyes; a smile tugging at Bucky’s perfect lips. “Stop what? Looking at you?” Bucky steps closer then, into the hazy space, his movements electric when he leans in to press his lips to Steve’s neck, sucking at his heated skin. “Looking at how perfect you look like this, on display for me?” He nips at the skin before he pulls pack, running his nose over Steve’s jaw on the way to connect their lips in a slow, blazing kiss that burns at the nerves still fluttering in his stomach. “Never, Stevie. You’re so goddamned perfect.”

 

He snakes his arms around Steve’s frame, holding him, chest to chest, heat to hotter heat, lips soft and firm, kiss slow and deep, Bucky taking his time, undoing Steve’s reluctance one searing kiss at a time, until he pulls away, gasping into the silent room.

 

“Bucky...” Steve feels warm all over, unsteady with Bucky’s kisses. He clutches at the other man’s arms. But he can’t say the words, can’t let that part of him go enough to whisper  _ I’m scared,  _ or  _ you make me feel too much _ , so he says nothing instead, simply looking into his boyfriend’s eyes.

 

Maybe Bucky sees it there, because he moves a hand up from Steve’s middle to cover Steve’s cheek, stroking his thumb gently over Steve’s skin. “Steve…” Bucky sighs softly, his thumb moving down to swipe against Steve’s closed lips. “Are you nervous, Baby?” 

 

Steve nods, still unable to bring himself to talk. He closes his eyes against the confession, shielding himself from what he fears he’ll see in Bucky’s eyes—pity, impatience, disgust—but then he feels Bucky’s lips take his once again in a slow kiss that leaves Steve boneless, blinking hazily at Bucky when he finally pulls back. “It’s okay to be nervous, Steve. Just tell me if you don’t like something, okay?” Another stroke of Bucky’s thumb over his cheek. “I want this to be good for you. Want to show you how much you mean to me. How does that sound?”

 

Steve lets out an unsteady breath. “Yeah, that—that sounds good.”

 

So Bucky starts to move, stepping Steve back as his hands trail down to undo Steve’s belt, so, so close to where Steve wants him to touch, fingers sure and swift as they start to work Steve’s slacks and boxers down from his hips. Steve reaches out, covering Bucky’s hands, stilling the other man’s movement. Bucky glances up at him, mouth parted, eyes searching, so Steve says, “Let me,” and fights away the nerves threatening as he steps back, slipping his clothes the rest of the way off, on display for Bucky’s hungry gaze.

 

Steve feels it like a caress, Bucky’s eyes tracking over his exposed skin, up and down, to rest on Steve’s cock, hard between his legs.

 

Bucky makes a sound like he’s been punched, then makes quick work of his own clothes, stripping himself while Steve watches, until Bucky fits himself back up against Steve, the hard lines of their bodies pressed together, each filling out the other’s empty places, hands and lips and skin sliding over each other’s bodies until Steve feels dizzy with it, until the world tilts when the back of his knees hit the bed, and they topple onto the mattress.

 

Breathless, they study each other. Steve notes the flush of Bucky’s skin, the way his lips are red and a little swollen from their heated kisses, his hair askew from Steve’ hands, the way his body looks atop Steve’s, his eyes, dark and wanting as they view Steve in equal measure. “Will you fuck me, Steve?” Bucky whispers, peering into Steve’s eyes, face open and vulnerable with his question. “Please? I want to feel you…” Steve lets out a sharp exhale, nodding almost frantically with the  _ want _ Bucky’s words inspire in him.

 

Bucky rolls off of Steve for a moment, moving until he can reach into the bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Steve swallows at the tension clutching at his stomach when Bucky comes back to him, straddling his waist, settling his ass against Steve’s erection. “Do you want me to do it, or do you want to?” Bucky holds out the lube.

 

Steve feels his mouth go dry, hands gently cupping Bucky’s hips to keep his fingers from shaking. “I don’t—I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Bucky’s lips pull up the the corners as he leans down, his hands braced on either side of Steve’s head against the mattress. “You wouldn’t hurt me, Steve.” Bucky kisses him, once, twice. “But okay, I’ll do it.” He sits back up and moves his hips until Steve groans. “Fuck, can’t wait to get you inside of me, Baby.”

 

Bucky pours a fair amount of lube onto his fingers before they disappear from Steve’s view, Bucky’s other hand placed firmly on Steve’s chest for balance. It’s almost better like this—Steve gets to watch Bucky’s face, gets to see the way a line forms between his eyebrows, then watch it smooth out when Bucky closes his eyes, biting his beautiful lips as he tilts his head back, shoulder shifting with the movements of his hidden hand.

 

His breaths get harsher, until Bucky’s all but panting when he brings his hand back, when he opens his eyes to gaze down at Steve, Bucky’s lube-coated fingers finding Steve’s cock, giving it a long stroke.

 

“F-fuck, Bucky—”

 

“Yeah, Stevie. I’m ready, c’mon.” Bucky moves off Steve, laying to the side to slip a condom onto Steve, slicking more lube over his hard length. He reaches over, putting his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him until he rolls over, settling himself atop Bucky, their mouths joined in more searing, searching kisses as Bucky lifts his legs to cradle Steve’s hips, crossing behind him. Steve reaches between their bodies, sliding himself once, twice, against Bucky’s entrance, before he lines himself up, pressing the head of his cock against Bucky’s wet heat, pushing in slowly—so slowly, until Bucky shudders with it beneath Steve, his lips given up on the kiss, moaning into Steve’s mouth. 

 

Steve fits himself inside, stilling for a respite, pulling back just to peer down at Bucky, to watch the way Bucky looks, to cement it in his brain—that  _ he _ did this to Bucky, that  _ he _ put that look of bliss on his boyfriend’s face.

 

And then Steve starts to move, rocking back and forth in a gentle, even rhythm, their mouths slotted back together—slow and deep, building the heat up inside of them both, until Bucky writhes under him, trying for more, for a friction Steve knows he so desperately needs, but he keeps with the pace, lifting himself up a little to reach down, wrapping a palm around Bucky’s erection. Bucky sighs at the touch, lifting his legs just a little higher, murmuring Steve’s name again and again as they move together like the tide.

 

It doesn’t take long before Bucky starts to shake beneath him, fingers clutching at Steve’s shoulders, lips pressed, open-mouthed, to Steve’s as he pants through his release, shuddering, tightening around Steve, until Steve loses the steady rhythm he’d been building, overwhelmed by the sight of Bucky, sweat-slick and sated underneath him, the other man’s come so warm between their torsos, covering Steve’s fingers. He moves faster, chasing the pleasure that only Bucky can give him, kissing at Bucky’s lips, his jaw, his neck, his throat—anywhere and everywhere his mouth can reach, repeating his name like a prayer until he comes, hips stuttering inside of him, having just enough sense left to pull out after, before collapsing on the other man.

 

He pants heavily against the column of Bucky’s throat, pressing his lips there to ground himself as the orgasm quivers through him. Bucky plays with his hair until he can breathe again. Steve pushes himself up from his boyfriend to see Bucky ginning at him. 

 

“Was that—” Steve licks his chapped lips. “Was that okay?”

 

Bucky pulls at Steve until they lay side-by-side, Bucky’s arms and legs intertwined with Steve’s, Bucky pressing the smallest kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. “More than okay. That was perfect, Stevie. You’re perfect.”

 

Steve hides his face against Bucky throat, heat once again flooding his face. This time, Bucky lets him be, kissing the top of his head with a satisfied sound.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stucky + "Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving.”

The jungle encompasses them, thick canopy trapping whatever starlight there might be. It’s dark, not even their enhanced vision is enough to keep them from stumbling on roots and branches, deep in the jungle of Wakanda. Steve stumbles more than Bucky, the wound on his head a constant, stinging pain right along with the gash on his side. It makes it hard for him to breathe, gasping in lungful after lungful, feeling like he’ll never get enough. It makes his head throb, oxygen curtailing his body’s ability to move. He thinks he might be losing more blood than he thought—something that’s confirmed when he presses a hand to his side and feels the tacky warmth of blood seeping through his uniform. He stumbles again, this time feeling his knees give out, feeling himself falling to the jungle floor—

But then Bucky’s there, hands reaching out to steady Steve, holding him under his arms to haul him back up, letting Steve rest against Bucky’s warm, solid frame for a moment. “Hey, hey, Stevie, it’s okay.” Bucky soothes, “we’re almost there, alright? Shuri will take care of you, I promise. We just have to go a little farther.” Bucky steps back, but his arm trails down to fit his hand into Steve’s. “Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving. I’ve got you, I promise.” Bucky’s palm against his gives Steve the strength to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other. It’s a battle—the last one in a war Steve thought ended with the fight—but as the sound of the waterfall draws closer, Steve thinks that maybe—finally—they’ve started to win something.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stucky stuck in an abandoned building

“This is Alpha team, we’ve been compromised. I repeat, Alpha team has been compromised. Over.” The radio crackles when Steve’s thumb releases the push-to-talk button. Static. “Alpha team is in need of extraction. Over.” More static, leaving a sinking feeling in Steve’s gut, tinging his words with desperation when he presses the PTT button once more.  “Does anybody read me? Over.”

“I don’t think anyone’s listening, Steve.” Bucky’s voice subdos the panic rising inside of him. Steve looks over to where he’s slumped on the floor with his back against a crumbling concrete wall, one leg outstretched in front of him, the remnants of Steve’s sleeve wrapped around his thigh in a makeshift tourniquet. The blood seeping from his leg wound has turned sluggish. Good new for now.

Steve puts the radio back, walking over to crouch down next to him. So far, they’ve managed to outrun the team sent after them, finding this abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city to hide in. It’s a temporary solution, but it could be worse, all things considered. Bucky got hit in the gun fight, but it was a through-and-through—his leg would probably already start to heal by the time the rescue team finds them.

“I’ll try again a little later.” Steve tells him, reaching out to squeeze lightly at Bucky’s shoulder.

The other man shakes his head. “It’s no use. There’s probably too much interference from the building.”

“Then I’ll go outside.” Steve makes to stand, but Bucky reaches out, puts a hand on his forearm.

“Don’t be an idiot, Steve. Going out there right now would be suicide.” Bucky sighs. “They’re still after us, remember?”

Steve remembers, of course he remembers, but sitting here, helpless, watching Bucky in pain when he could be doing something makes him want to take his chance against the assassins. “Then what am I supposed to do, Buck?” Steve can’t quite keep the exasperation from his voice and his words come out sharper than he intended. He winces.

Bucky, however, seems nonplused. He tilts his head back against the wall, corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. The hand on Steve’s arm trails down to his wrists, pulling Steve a little. “Sit with me?” Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, looking more peaceful that Steve thinks he has a right to—having just been shot and all. “Just sit with me, Stevie. Please?”

And Steve can’t resist—helpless to help Bucky, but even more helpless to that pleading tone in his voice. “Sure, Buck,” Steve says, sliding down so his back is against the wall, until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Bucky.

The building is dark, austere interior unforgiving in the low light. Broken glass and litter sprinkle the floor on the opposite wall, a fallen beam separating their little part of the warehouse from the rest of it. It’s quiet—not even the buzz of electricity to occupy their ears. Steve listens to the way Bucky breathes—a sign that he’s okay, that he’s still alive, that they’ve made it this far together.

Bucky opens his eyes, looking over at Steve. “It’ll be okay, you know. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, and it probably won’t be the last.”

Steve nudges Bucky a little with his shoulder. “I know, Buck.” He sighs, feeling suddenly weary. “That’s what worries me.” He makes eye contact with Bucky, hand moving of its own accord to push Bucky’s loose hair behind his ear. “I don’t like to see you hurt.” Bucky’s lips part in a silent inhale, eyes searching Steve’s face. It’s more than Steve has let himself say in a long time—not since— Well, probably not since he saw Bucky on that table over seventy-five years ago, if he’s honest with himself. “You don’t deserve to live like this. You deserve better.”

“Steve…” His name is barely a whisper, full of things unsaid between them for far too long.

Suddenly, the radio crackles to life. “Alpha team. Extraction in position at rendezvous point. Over.”

They look at each other for a long moment, until the radio repeats itself with more urgency.

“I guess that’s us.” Bucky finally murmurs.

Steve lets out a shaky breath, getting out his radio, eyes still on Bucky as he presses the PTT button. “This is alpha team. We’ll meet you at the rendezvous point. Over and out.”

Steve stands, offering a hand to Bucky before helping the other man up. Bucky winces when he puts pressure on his bad leg, grabbing Steve’s shoulders for support.

But as Steve starts to step back, to meet up with their team, Bucky stops him. “Hey Steve? You deserve better, too, you know.”

Steve can’t find it in himself to look away from Bucky’s gaze. “Maybe.” He clears his throat. “But right now we have to move.”

“Okay.”

Steve slings one of Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, ushering them both to safety.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve post IW

_ “Steve?” _

 

It echoes in his head, over and over, haunting him, Bucky’s last word a ghost that he can’t shake. Scared, confused, Bucky stepping closer to him as though Steve could save him.

 

But he couldn’t. He could do nothing.

 

He could do nothing but watch as Bucky slipped through his fingers once again, reaching for him, calling for him.

 

But he wasn’t fast enough back then, wasn’t good enough or quick enough, and none of his super-soldier abilities prepared him to lose Bucky the first time around. 

 

And then it happened again, and this time was somehow worse, made the pain and grief he’d shoved deep down into his chest surface like a punch to his gut, stealing his breath like the asthma used to, making him feel weak and helpless, because Bucky was always the one holding Steve up, and now that he’s gone…

 

_ “Steve?” _

 

Steve holds the peace lily between his hands. This far back in the cemetery, it’s quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. It reminds Steve of a simpler time, of a childhood spend side-by-side with Bucky. 

 

Three more rows back, two isles down, near the middle. He learned his way there not long after he left the ice.

 

He finds it again now, and the weight of the flower in his hands feels heavier than it has any right to, and it takes more effort to close the distance than it did to hold off Thanos.

 

He drops to his knees then, hard earth digging in, unable to do anything else, crippled by Bucky’s name carved in the old, crumbling stone. 

 

Permanent. Unforgiving. Cold. 

 

_ “Steve?” _

 

A thousand words he never said, a thousand more he thought he might, someday, when the battles finally ended, when they could find a little sliver of the world to keep and make their own, a place to end their days together.

 

Maybe Bucky would’ve wanted it to be Wakanda. Maybe it’s fitting that’s where it all ended for him. Bucky’s own cabin, his own spot of land in the country like they always talked about.

 

Steve lays the flower down, reaching out to dust off the lettering on the grave, but the dust clings to his fingers, makes him see, again and again the  way Bucky blew away in the breeze.

 

He closes his eyes against the image, but it plays in his mind on a loop he can’t escape - endless, agonizing, killing Steve everytime he hears the ghost of his own name…

 

_ “Steve?” _

 

It sounds so real to his ears, a nearly tangible memory that cripples him anew. It’s like Bucky’s still here, like the wind carries the frantic resonance of his voice from half a world away. Like somehow the quietest whisper came to life, only for a moment, only for him, waiting at Bucky’s final resting place.

 

“Steve!”

 

The ghost calls out to him, more desperate, echoing around him instead of just inside of his head. 

 

He opens his eyes.

 

“...Bucky?”

  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stucky + Birthday

The day started just like any other, with Steve waking up beside Bucky. He cuddled closer, looking over at the man he loved. He traced the wrinkle between Bucky’s eyebrows with his eyes, wishing he could soothe that out, could sooth out the tight look on his face. He wondered if Bucky was having another nightmare. He tightened his arm around him, trying to lend Bucky his warmth. The snow outside kept falling as Steve held him just a moment longer before finally getting himself out of bed. He made sure to stay quiet, not wanting to wake his boyfriend, especially not today of all days.

It was Bucky’s birthday after all.

Steve made quick work of making the breakfast spread up–eggs and bacon and potatoes and toast with orange marmalade and orange juice and the jasmine tea that Bucky liked so much. He arranged it all on the serving tray he found in an antique shop not long after he woke up that reminded him so much of his Ma’s–of her bringing him chicken noodle soup when he was sick and doing this same thing for Steve when it was his birthday.

Steve wanted to keep the tradition alive.

The food was still steaming when he made his way back into the bedroom. Bucky was awake now and he sat against the headboard, the blanket pooled around his waist. He smiled at Steve, his sleepy eyes lighting up as he took Steve and the contents of the tray in.

“Is that for me?” Bucky asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Steve gave him a small smile as he came over to the bed, setting the tray on Bucky’s lap before scooting over next to him. “Not all of it.” He said, snagging a piece of toast, only to have his hand swatted for his actions.

“What, you too good to share, old man?”

“I’m not that old.”

“You’re 102!”

Bucky snorted, sipping at the orange juice. “So? I look damn good for my age.”

Steve made a soft sound of consideration, sizing his boyfriend up. “Well, you don’t exactly look young anymore…” Steve laughed at the scandalized look on Bucky’s face and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re a punk, Stevie.” Bucky shook his head but looked over at Steve, moving in to kiss him softly. “But you’re my punk.”

Steve smiled against Bucky’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk. Now eat your breakfast while it’s hot.”

Bucky pulled back and rolled his eyes at Steve, turning back to the food. It wasn’t quite enough to hide the small smile on his lips from Steve though. He took the moment to steal a piece of bacon, Bucky letting it slide this time.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky.”


End file.
